


baby the skies'll be blue

by christinaapplegay



Category: Dead To Me (TV)
Genre: F/F, just me conveniently forgetting that they've killed people because i want them to kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25665403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinaapplegay/pseuds/christinaapplegay
Summary: jen’s going for grandiose love confession without the grandiose love confession part.
Relationships: Judy Hale/Jen Harding
Comments: 24
Kudos: 116





	baby the skies'll be blue

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'happy together' by the turtles
> 
> the best way i can describe this is that it's like moments/attempted vignettes where jen is either trying to tell judy how she feels about her without saying it or trying to talk herself out of it because she's scared basically...sometimes it goes off in all different directions because i love to be inconsistent <3

The thing about the Santa Monica Pier is that it’s one of those places that’s like, you go once and you’re good. Except for when you have a ten-year-old and a Judy, apparently. 

Judy says they should have family days ( _family_ , Jen thinks, embarrassingly overjoyed that Judy’s taken the word as her own and applies it to her, to them, to what they have), where they reserve one weekend a month for whatever the boys wanna do. Charlie’s first idea is neon laser tag, which is axed immediately because Jen doesn’t have the back, the stamina, or truly, the patience for something like neon laser tag. Judy mentions the pier over dinner one night, and Henry drops his fork, clanging against his plate, elbow diving into his mashed potatoes, shouting, “They have dragon eggs, Judy! We have to go, please, mom, oh my God,” and of course, Jen’s not gonna say no just because she hates overpopulated piers, especially with Henry so excited about (faux?) dragon eggs. Judy gives her something like a wink and a smile across the table, and it’s reassurance in the way only Judy's able to conjure. 

The pier sorta reminds her of Coney Island, but like, a total second rate Coney Island. Coney Island has lobster rolls, after all. It’s definitely no Astroland, which she thinks is closed down since she left, but still. It’s all too touristy. Full of people who think California is the best place on God's green earth. Which... sure. Maybe if you're from rural Alabama. 

“God,” Jen mutters, tearing her gaze from a family of two screaming looks-to-be two-year-olds with bright blue stained mouths in a double stroller, to Judy, her bangs swooped to the side, blowing in the wind like the leaves of palm trees. Judy’s got her thinking in metaphors, an embarrassing side effect of having a schoolgirl crush, she thinks. Judy looks up at her from the compact map of the pier, eyebrows raised, waiting for Jen’s impending complaint. 

“It’s not too warm, huh?” she says instead of fuck, this place is like a horror movie. 

“You don’t think it’s warm? I feel like my under boob is soaking my bra in sweat,” Judy says, going for a Jen Harding instead of a Judy Hale and she gives her a look like hey, I can complain, too. 

Jen lays her hand on her thigh cringing at how her skin is a gross adhesive to the plastic table she and Judy are waiting at as the boys buy churros, cartoon sea animals painted all over it, which is supposed to be fun, Jen guesses, as she shifts in place. 

“Tell me, why did you say I should wear shorts, again, Jude? My skin is gonna be glued to this bench in a second.”

“Because, Jen, you have killer legs and it’s 98 out. And not every day is pantsuit day, live in some Levi's once in a while.” 

Judy says they should do the ferris wheel later in the day, and Jen's about to say something along the lines of going to the crystal shop on the adjacent Ocean Avenue that she found through yelp last night, hinting to Judy that she remembers their conversation about orange selenite crystal spheres, all about good luck and protection and well, at this point, Jen’s willing to try anything, but then there’s a guy beside her suddenly saying, “Hey, I hope I’m not butting in or anything,” and Jen squints up at him, the sun a halo, and his cocky smile makes her huff because it’s like, yeah, you obviously are, and you know you are.

He, right off the bat, is a typical southern California guy, tanned skin, bright blue eyes, annoying hair in a weird little blonde upward swoop, the only thing he’s missing is a Jeep buggy and a wetsuit, and he confirms his status as douchey Californian when he doesn’t give either her or Judy a chance to reply.

“You’re very beautiful, I just had to let you know that.” 

Jen bellows a laugh like an old Hollywood actress, and she looks at Judy, about to do a whole, scoffs, rolls eyes, get a load of this guy shtick, but she immediately notices Judy’s jaw clenched, her smile tight, looking increasingly interested in the map she holds with an only tightening grip, so she decides that she’s gotta get this guy to leave immediately if this is Judy’s reaction to him. 

“That’s nice of you, dude,” Jen says passively, focused on Judy’s clearly uncomfortable aura she wants to lessen and he laughs like he’s surprised, and Jen thinks it’s kinda fun to be this disinterested in men who think the sun shines out of their ass. 

“Okay, then, I was gonna give you my number, but-”

“Oh,” Jen interrupts, Judy looks up like she’s gonna speak, but only rolls her lips inward, and Jen states, “I’m not interested. Or available. So. Nope. No number.”

He does a laugh that tells Jen his ego is now bruised. Then, he does this defeated little wave that Jen wants to laugh at because it’s like, really buddy, and he staggers away. Once he’s out of a reasonable ear-shot, Jen laughs, says, “What the fuck do men think is gonna happen when they do that?” 

“You said you weren’t available,” Judy says, twisting the rings on her fingers. 

Jen did say that, didn’t she? 

Jen shrugs, thinking what’s a little white lie, really.

“I mean, he probably wouldn’t have left otherwise.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, of course.” 

Jen thinks for a moment. “I guess I don’t really consider myself available, though,” and Jen knows what she means by it because, after an unreasonable amount of four in the morning wonderings, she’s decided she doesn’t want to date, is strictly unavailable...unless she can have Judy. So, really, she’s honoring being alone forever. 

Jen watches as Judy bites down on her lip, then scrunches her nose, and Jen’s mesmerized by it, once again hooked by her, as Judy says, “I would say the same thing if someone asked me.” 

“Well,” Jen says, and she waits for eye contact, “I’m glad we’re on the same page then.”

*

Jen would like to say that she’s not on top of it, that she can’t read body language whatsoever, that she’s naturally oblivious. Sometimes she is, as much as anyone is, she thinks, but not about this. That night, she lies in bed, and she plays it over, and over, and over until she’s nearly convinced it didn’t happen. She’s been waiting for something like this to happen, to be given some sort of sign, signal, some sort of anything that even slightly hints that Judy wants more. 

I would say the same thing if someone asked me. _I would say the same thing if someone asked me._

Jen has to think really hard, file through and catalog the events of the last month, which, hell, shouldn't be this difficult, because Judy and Michelle broke up weeks and weeks ago, Judy’s single and mentions it like, daily, like she’s just waiting for someone, anyone, to ask her on a date, which Jen would rather hear nails on a chalkboard than listen to Judy lament about being lonely, because it’s like, give me a break, Jen thinks, I’m fucking working on it. She doesn’t let herself second guess, knows Michelle isn’t what Judy’s referring to, not at all, and unless Judy’s started seeing someone recently, and like, yesterday, without Jen’s knowledge, it really fucking feels like they’ve suddenly found themselves on the same axis, finally parallel.

*

Jen has to do something about it, knows she needs to bite the bullet and just say it, take a fucking chance, though she wishes she didn’t have to verbalize it, wonders if she could write a letter.

Judy would probably love a love letter. 

She’s not gonna write a fucking letter.

She’s gonna finish these peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the boy's school lunch and then she’s gonna go buy some crazy sweet thing like a chocolate-covered twinkie because really, she needs a cigarette, so a heavily processed pastry will have to do.

“Will you have lunch with me today?” Judy is suddenly there, rounding the corner into the kitchen, saying it like it’s urgent.

It’s the sneaking up on her shit Jen hates. Judy, who literally is like a Prius somehow even though she’s always wearing some sort of heel, is constantly and suddenly there, in her space like a clingy puppy or separation anxiety-induced nearly one year old.

“Lunch?” Jen reiterates, out of breath, like she’s come back from a run instead of stood solitary packing school lunches. 

“Yeah!” Judy smiles, “there’s this new vegan sushi place nearby work that I’ve heard really amazing things about, and well, I know it’s vegan, but, it’s supposedly like, really good, and the meats not too chewy, which is rare.” 

“Not chewy,” Jen nods, and Judy looks at her expectantly, like, well whaddya say? 

“I guess vegan sushi it is.”

And when Judy beams at her and starts puttering around the kitchen in a dress Jen notices accentuates a certain area that out of respect will not be named Jen has a feeling she’s a little in over her head here. 

*

How does she even go about saying hey, Judy, you know, actually, I know we've crafted this dynamic under the impression that we're friends who are gonna raise children together, but, truly, I kind of am in love with you, and I sit around thinking about kissing you while I show houses all day. Anyway. Like, honestly, why is there no rulebook for how to tell your same-sex best-friend you're thinking about pinning them against the refrigerator every time you're cooking dinner together? 

It would be so beautifully convenient if Judy just knew, and took charge, and said there's no need for revelations. Jen wants to exist as they do now, just with a few possible added bonuses; she doesn't want a huge, drawn-out melodramatic these are my feelings please reciprocate them. She wants the denouement without putting in the work. 

*

Judy says they should start a garden, grow their own food, something like not let capitalism step on our necks, which is really quite aggressive for Judy, Jen thinks, as she says it like she’s reciting it off the page while they browse the vegetable section of Whole Foods. 

“We can grow so much butternut squash,” Judy says excitedly, examining the very vegetable. She sets it back down, “jeez, these prices are highway robbery.”

“Well, this isn’t a 365 Whole Foods, I don’t think, it’s the real fucking thing.”

“Oh, this is gonna be great, Jen, we can get the boys to help, too. Oh! And the best part is that with what we don’t use, like the extras, we can donate it to food banks!” 

Jen’s finding the inside of her mouth is a bit scratched up recently, mostly from biting the inside of her cheek from suppressing smiles because Judy just has a way about her. She stands to the left of Judy, grocery cart following the pattern, glancing around the store as Judy continues examining various vegetables, never seeming to veer too far off from her. Judy mentions how garden tomatoes are on a whole other level than store-bought, and Jen does kind of enjoy these little moments of domesticity, chalks it up to how when she was married she spent these moments alone, stressed, ready to get in the car and never come back, so now that she’s got Judy by her side, it’s not so horrible. She’s starting to think she should just let it lie, continue with a crush that will surely fade with time, like once Judy starts seeing someone because the idea of losing Judy hurts more than the idea of not being with her. 

“Do you care for beets? I’m not a fan but I’ve heard you can make lattes out of them,” Judy says, and Jen starts to say why the fuck would you wanna beetroot latte as she’s surveying the nearby fruit from a distance when she notices a woman with pastel pink hair and a Whole Foods shirt, a cart of broccoli with her person, beginning to shelve it, eyeing Judy, very much in that up and down fashion, and the employee says, “They’re great for enhancing nitric oxide production.” 

“Good to know,” Judy says, and though Jen can’t see her smile, she can hear it. And Jen kind of just does it, she takes a leap of faith step to the right and slides her arm around Judy’s waist which is slightly difficult with the nature of the denim jacket she wears, and she grips her hip, feels Judy tense at her touch, her hold, though does immediately relax, and Jen says, “You know, I can make you a mean beetroot latte.” 

Judy looks at her, wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and says, “ooh, looks like Saturday morning brunch plans are here,” and her arm snakes around Jen’s back, gently settling on a shoulder blade, she rubs the silk-clad area for a moment before untangling, paying no further mind to the employee, and she grabs a pack of prepackaged beets. 

Jen looks up how to make a beetroot latte when she can’t sleep that night.

*

Judy means so much to her, means more to her than she thought a single person who she didn’t birth could, so that’s what’s made it so Judy’s clouding her peripherals, giving her something like tunnel vision, and she figures it out quickly; it’s something like when you’re lying on your leg for too long, move suddenly, and it’s asleep, and prickly, and burns a little, but you know that to rid the ache you just gotta walk on it, get the blood flowing and voila, back to normal.

Maybe she likes the ache. 

*

Judy says let’s go to a club, that she wants to get drunk and go dancing, and hang on Jen, actually says I want to dance on you, not with you, like that’s totally normal, and maybe Jen’s missing something, maybe she hasn’t had enough platonic female friendships to really say whether or not Judy’s invitation has an underlying meaning. Jen very well may be placing meaning where none lies. 

So, Jen slides on her tightest jeans and a mesh blouse that makes her feel kinda slutty, which she’s learned is not a bad thing, and sprays on this Chanel perfume that’s sat in her closet for years and Judy wears a regular old floral and frilly dress with her hair in her loose waves which Jen thinks is kinda funny because it’s certainly not a club look. 

She quietly wonders if Judy’s not aiming to go home with anyone (else) tonight. 

Ultimately, she doesn’t. 

Judy dances on her as promised, honing gracelessness, sans any rhythm, and it's almost a turn-off, as Jen thinks about showing Judy how to move to the tempo than how close, hot, and sweaty Judy is, how her arms are around her neck like an anchor, and she embarrassingly teaches her how to count music as a dancer would. She grabs her hips, pulls her close, strictly for the art of it, and husks into her ear due to the harsh volume, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, two, two, three, four, and so on, until Judy picks up on it. She doesn't, and she hangs onto Jen and Jen indulges in the idea that this is Judy's plan of her own. 

In true yearning fashion, Jen dreams of Judy that night, all clips of moments she could own, and it’s nothing short of something close to pornographic as dream her has Judy begging for it, telling her how badly she wants it, which is fucking mortifying because why would she have anyone wanting her that bad, ever. 

And, of course, facing the woman she has turned into a commodified sex object is not easy; she has to leave the table when Judy eats ice cream with a spoon the next day because of how fucking close to something she dreamt the previous night it is.

Jen’s gotta figure it out before she falls victim to spontaneous combustion. 

*

“Judy, can I ask you something?” 

A quarter before midnight as they have just finished cleaning the kitchen from dinner (put off in order to enjoy this documentary on polar bears and their impending extinction Judy’s been wanting to show her), suddenly seems like the perfect time. She kinda feels like she’s losing her mind.

“Of course!” Judy says from in front of the sink. She folds a tea towel and places it on the counter. Jen is shocked by the simple domesticity of it. Judy smiles at her, and that’s the thing, Judy’s beautiful, but, Jen has twenty-twenty babies and is sure everyone thinks Judy’s beautiful. She’s not special for that.

“Wait, is it about the steamed zucchini?” Judy says, suddenly worried, “Was it bad? Not ripe? One of the stems was broken when I picked it, that might be why.”

“Oh. No, nope, zucchini was… steamed. To perfection.”

“Oh,” Judy smiles, “phew, good. Go on.” 

“Okay,” Jen sighs, melodramatically, she realizes, as she sits on the barstool, opposite Judy. “I’m sorry if this is weird but I like, need to know.”

“Alright,” Judy says lightheartedly like she’s trying to help lift morale. “Shoot.”

Jen nods and she exhales to buy herself a second. In retrospect, this may not give anything away, but right now she’s going for any single way she can say it without saying it.

“Would you ever think I could be gay?”

“Anyone can be gay, Jen,” Judy easily says, shrugging. She goes to fill a glass of water. Jen notices her grip is harsh around the cup, edges of her fingers turning stark white.

“I know. I know,” Jen says, almost reassuringly, because now is not the time for turning herself into a possible homophobe. “I just mean, like, do I... do I look gay? At all?"

“Honestly?”

“Well, yes, Judy, honestly. I need to know.”

Judy makes this face like she’s worried Jen’s gonna blow a casket. Which furthers the need to learn some anger management skills.

“I kinda think you do,” Judy says through somewhat gritted teeth.

“Really?” Jen’s hot all over, though she suddenly cares more about Judy’s hands that grasp her cup – the veins that pop out as she sets the cup down, flexes her hand. 

“Yeah,” Judy says, it’s a feeling close to relief as Judy smiles lightly at her like she somehow knows they are treading choppy waters. 

“I think you can kinda just tell when someone is even if they don’t have any sort of stereotypical giveaway. I mean, only if you yourself are you know, intune.”

“Okay." Jen does not know what to think of that. “So, but, I don’t have any kind of, oh, that one… she’s gay?” Jen says, awkward hand gestures present, including pointing to herself for clarification, so she crosses her arms over her chest to save her further embarrassment.

And Judy’s quiet for a second, then stern in a way she’s not. “Hey, why’s it matter? What’s goin’ on?”

Jen doesn’t even take a second to plan her answer. Fuck it kinda thing. “I’m. Well. I might be interested in a woman.”

“A woman?”

“A woman.”

“Oh, well,” Judy nods, tilts her head, raises her eyebrows, and she takes a very long sip of water. Jen watches, because well, she is attracted to Judy, which feels like something she’s known but never connected it as attraction until now, that the sudden adrenaline rush whenever Judy’s near has a name. 

“Aren't we all."

*

Jen never thought she had game or anything, but Jesus, it's like she's totally fucking clueless when it comes to Judy. Granted, treading around _it_ like she's in the presence of a crocodile isn't necessarily her best work, but she's aiming for enough subtlety that it eventually turns into what else would this mean other than I'm interested _interested_ in you.

It's gonna work when all is said and done.

*

Jen thinks she shouldn't have allowed the physical intimacy to reach a level where it doesn't mean anything. 

Touching is so normal for them that it doesn't seem to be able to lift any sort of veil. 

They've started going on walks along various trails, along the beach, along a paved section in some nature reserve, sometimes only around the neighbourhood, but it's nice, peaceful, a way for them to spend time alone, where Jen thinks, okay, maybe now is the time, though always seems to fall short. 

She'll grasp Judy's hand as they walk, lace their fingers, squeeze, and not let go when someone passes by. She knows Judy likes it, but it doesn't lead to anything bigger.

She's seriously considering that love letter. 

*

Jen hates the way it sounds, as if she’s using her mother’s cancer as an excuse for her inadequacies, but she doesn’t know how to cook because, by the time she was old enough to learn, life was preoccupied with hospital visits, figuring out how to keep the house and pay for chemo, and an acute awareness that her mom is gonna die any day, basically, so figuring how to correctly chop garlic was not on the docket. Yes, she should know how to mince it by now, but, well, she doesn’t. Which, apparently, to Judy, is a huge fucking deal. She practically lambasted her, a rare sight on Judy, so Jen knows it must be a horrible skill to lack.

Judy devises a plan to get Jen cooking. A whole meal from scratch is Judy’s goal, one which Jen is not confident will actually come into fruition, because, for one, Jen can barely boil water without getting fed up. It takes a fucking while. 

It kind of feels like a date, but maybe that’s because Jen wants to see it that way, and not a simple night in with her best friend who is teaching her how to cook. Judy carts the boys off to Lorna’s, she’s taking it that seriously, apparently. She says something about how they need zero distraction, zero pressure, that Jen just needs to practice the craft without prying eyes.

Judy says they are gonna make this curry dish that takes around an hour in total; and that she bought some very expensive alcohol to pair with it. It comes in a blue velvet little box with a ribbon. It’s elevated, clearly.

It goes smoothly, despite Jen’s fear of fucking it all up, and the prodding need to shout I love you at Judy dissipates. She thinks, maybe, that it’s finally lessening. Judy shows her how to mince garlic and it’s not as harrowing an act as she assumed and she finds herself not questioning her choices, following the directions of the recipe as they talk about the boys, how they’re doing, how work is, how there’s an influx of stoner septuagenarians Judy’s dealing with. It’s the first expanse of time in awhile Jen feels like she’s existing freely without the weight of worry.

“You should probably pull your hair back,” Judy says, over the sound of washing rice.

“Hands are kinda preoccupied with this garlic shit,” Jen says, now really feeling the remnants of the cloves on her fingers. The sludge. Not a fan.

“Here, one sec,” and as Jen continues with the delicate chopping motion, Judy rinses her hands, dries them, and then tells Jen to pause right where you are. Jen sets the knife down on the chopping board, and then Judy’s standing behind her, Jen selfishly enjoying the heat of her body so close. Her fingers, soft and light, are reaching up, tucking Jen’s hair behind her ears, gathering it like a bushel of flowers, Judy’s that delicate. She ties it back. Jen doesn’t know what to think. She tries steadying her breath, not wanting to give herself away. Her face burns, is hot like she’s drunk too much hard liquor. She’s never been good at catching her breath, she sounds labored and she knows it, thinks Judy knows it, too.

“There,” said gently, with hands that squeeze her shoulders in acknowledgment.

All Jen can do is nod and wait for Judy to move, but she doesn’t.

“Oh, and your apron is loose, too,” and then there are fingers trailing down her back, hands that settle on her hips briefly. Judy ties the apron and it’s something like a confirmation, one that doesn’t feel so unattainable anymore.

*

It’s like Judy’s purposely not letting her catch her fucking breath. 

“The woman you like really likes this wine.”

Jen’s focus is ripped from the TV, another endangered animal documentary playing that she’s quite engaged in. She must’ve heard Judy wrong, that’s how focused she is on the leatherback sea turtles.

“What?” she spits out, not liking how she has zero edge in this soon-to-be-conversation as Judy tips the glass back, her neck exposed, curved. Jen waits to see the hollow of it return. 

“I think I might be drunk… possibly. Maybe wasted. I’ll shut up,” Judy says, though begins rambling anyway, “I don’t know why I said that. I'm just dumb. I mean, I think I am just having some thoughts, big ones, but I don’t even know if that woman is here.”

When Jen doesn’t reply, because it’s possible she’s flatlining, Judy says, “I do hope she’s here.”

Jen watches Judy lightly tapping her hand on her thigh like she’s nervous, Jen thinks, because she’s picked up on Judy’s mannerisms. She does a lot with her hands, each gesture meaning something different. She zeros back in on the television, ignoring the twisting in her stomach something close to ringing out a wet towel. She knows Judy’s watching her, has spent enough time with Judy to know when Judy’s gaze is purposeful and when she’s trying to be assertive, and because she feels like she owes honesty to Judy for various reasons, the most pertinent right now being that Jen’s at two strikes: sex dreams and murder, she says, "Hey, you're not dumb. Don't talk like that."

Judy makes those increasingly infamous puppy eyes at her Jen thinks she can hear the blood rushing throughout her entire body, she’s never felt so there, so present in herself, thinks Judy’s grounding her in a way she’s not ready for.

“Can I just say, please, that if you wanna date a woman,” Judy says, quickly, gauging Jen’s eyes. She shrugs. Like it’s normal Thursday night chatter. “I volunteer.”

“Oh,” Jen says, sputtering around her words, she laughs nervously; Jen never pinned Judy as intuitive, begins to question if she's been that obvious, or is Judy doing a take one for the team type of thing? “You don’t have to do that. Don’t–it’s fine.”

“Hey, I would. God, who wouldn’t?”

“What is this I volunteer as tribute shit?”

“It is not I volunteer as tribute shit. I’m serious, Jen. I’m not a very good liar, you know.”

“Yeah, Judy, you often say that, but your track record says otherwise.” And then it’s as if she loses any semblance of the already minute filter she had. “We’ve had a very confusing year, Judy. Maybe we’re both just confused.”

“We have, we definitely have.”

It looks like Judy waits for a moment before:

“I would still date you.”

“Why?” Jen says, like Judy saying she would date her, which, arguably, is what she’s been hoping for, is a supreme offense.

“Why?” Judy repeats, a bit incredulous. Closest to outwardly angry as she can get, Jen assumes.

“Yeah,” Jen says, shrugs like it’s a challenge. “Why?"

“Oh, you want me to write you a list? Because I will. I’ll use my lined and floral stationery paper. Spray it with perfume and everything, maybe send it off in the mail so it’s extra romantic?” Judy says it with a smile, and she scoots closer to her, tucks a leg under herself, and plops down, nearly on top of Jen’s lap, and Jen almost wishes Judy had miscalculated and ended up there, but whatever, that’s off-topic.

“Number one is easy," Judy's deep brown eyes are a shade that says I could never lie to you. "You are the most giving person I have ever known and you do not even know it." And Jen believes it, despite cynicism she’s found solace in.

She bites the inside of her cheek and it feels ridiculous that she’s smiling like this. 

“You got any more?"

“Wait, do you want an actual list?” Jen knows if she says yes Judy will literally come up with bullet points as to why she means her words. Jen shakes her head ‘no’ and Judy's face is so close, eyes fluttering down at her lips, it almost feels too stereotypical, like a moment that doesn't belong to her, only other people. Jen’s almost certain Judy’s gonna kiss her, but Judy doesn’t, only nods, turns back to the television, and it’s practically the disappointment of Jen’s life.

*

It’s a stupid little trip to Costco that solidifies it. They’re out of sugar, and flour, somehow simultaneously, and Judy wants to bake banana bread, and she says that buying in bulk is better for the environment, and Jen isn’t one to mess with the environment, so they go to Costco for two ingredients.

They tread lightly around one another as if this thing that exists between them needs to be held like fine china, as if seconds away from breaking with one sudden, wrong move. There’s been no grandiose love confession, but it exists, almost like it always has. It’s unidentified yet there, and pressing, and in a look across bushels of flowers, of daisies, and tulips, and baby’s breath; something like oh, that’s what this has been this entire time. 

They got their goods and are roaming the store; Judy, apparently, is a big fan of the place. She's talking about the way buying in bulk is important, that she wishes they had more ethical grocery stores nearby, and Jen kind of decides that this is it, that this is what she wants her life to look like and it’s almost unbearable that her feelings exist in a solitary vacuum. She hates how schmaltzy it sounds but it's as if she can see her life stretched out before her, and it’s Judy. It's always, always Judy.

“Judy, don’t laugh,” Jen says, warningly, as if Judy did laugh it would actually make a difference, as if Jen is capable at this point of not saying what she’s going to say. Judy stops as she does, her grip tightening on the shopping cart handle, and maybe Jen should have known the second her hand fixation showed up. 

“I would never,” she says, earnest, a soft smile where she bites down on her bottom lip. Her eyes shimmer, fucking glow in the harsh fluorescent light. Jen wants to be mad that this is so hard, rather she’s angry by how much she wants this, so much so that she’s risking it all in the microwave section of a fucking warehouse store. 

Jen whispers it, making sure they are alone, eased knowing that they are in a more barren area of the store. “Can we... let's just kiss, Judy. One and done. Come on.” 

“Oh, like, right now?” Judy says, copying Jen’s surveying eyes. She doesn’t even seem fazed.

“Yes,” Jen says, harshly, like that’s gonna make Judy wanna grab her and kiss her here and now. She mellows her tone, “As long as you want to, of course. Do you? Want to?” 

“We’re in the middle of a Costco, Jen,” Judy says, faux scandalized, and she points at a wall of kitchen appliances, “So, we could do it in front of either an LG, a Sonic, but never a Lightning. They are more likely to cause radiation.”

“They’re not even on.”

“Well, better safe than sorry.”

And Judy glances around them, and Jen focuses on Judy, how today, she's like the smell fresh laundry in the summer, how her hair brushes against exposed collarbones as she moves, how she then steps closer, her face becoming only slightly blurry as she’s leaning in and up, and it’s such a quick kiss Jen regrets asking for it out in the open because now all she wants is to figure out what Judy’s lips feel like when they linger, when she can better taste peach flavored chapstick.

**Author's Note:**

> so the tying of the apron part... stolen from the movie hustlers
> 
> i always forget to leave my twitter @lindsayweirds i mostly just tweet pictures of linda cardellini but i'd love it if you'd follow me!


End file.
